Adrian's Rants

Neu Rave not So New


I’ve never wanted to dress my age. I had always deemed it as a laudable gesture of sophistication; my mother deemed it as the crow’s path to grey hair.

It began at the age of six, an age when salt-stained slush pants and faux fur trimmed boots with ribbed rubber toecaps epitomized utilitarian chic (oh, how this definition will change with time). They weren’t pretty by any means, but they got the job done. In other words, the crocs of childrenswear before…well…crocs.

But amidst the kaleidoscope-colored playground of gamboling children outfitted in patch worked parkas, I, for one, couldn’t fathom why a six-year-old would necessitate knee-high boots and inauspiciously volumizing Michelle Man-like track pants. Slim cut denim and silk brocade vests seemed rather chic for the day. Once again, I said precocious, other sneered pretentious

Nu Rave/Neu-rave kids look stylishly chilled. Photo: Myspace.com

Fast forward 15 years and the contentions seem eerily relevant. I scan - albeit like a blind seeing light for the first time - the streets to discover my peers decked in London’s Crayola (neon edition, of course) coloured neu rave craze, patronizing the ritual sacrifices of somber-hued garb to Agyness Deyn and Henry Holland, and can’t help but feel I’ve missed the clambering bandwagon - once again. I feel no intimate urge to marry a zebra print tank with lame gold leggings and string plastic hippos for a DIY necklace.

Perhaps I’m square. And frankly, I don’t doubt it. But I’d also like to think the source of my aversion rests in more than a proclivity for right angles.

Que the drum roll for…Paleoyouth.

It’s likely that you’ve encountered the term “paleo” at least once in your spring fashion reads. Defined absolutely as “ancient” or “primitive”, fashion writers have composed nuances on spring’s paleofuturism - think Fendi, Balenciaga, D & G - resuscitating yore’s ideas of the future into something intent on earning accolades of “modernity”. Metallics, Lucite, chain mail, and armour-like seaming were spotted throughout the spring runways. Judy Jetson would have approved.

But this fascination with the past is seemingly not isolated to metallic platforms. The plastic accessories, Day-Glo colours, and oversized glasses with no frames are simply manifestations of this same antiquated thinking - this notion of how youth should dress.
80s club kids do neon. Buddy Holly rocks the ovserized frames. 90s rave kids go to extremes. Slightly recent?

The plastic accessories are virtual recapitulations of the oversized plastic lollipops and necklaces which discerned early 90s rave kids. The clashing, neon coloured clothing evokes kitsch-levels not seen since the early 80s youthquake. It’s difficult to ignore allusions to Buddy Holly upon observing the bevy of scenesters sporting coke bottle glasses and then make mechanical associations to 1950s rebellion (almost an oxymoron by today’s standards).

But what is goading this trend to reiterate the status symbols of yesterday’s youth? If anything is certain, it’s that nostalgia isn’t the culprit.

Perhaps it is a lack of creativity. It’s been argued that we are a generation without a cause. We can offer the Eco movement, but it’s difficult to assign such a collective passion in light of our cheap ‘n chic mentality. Do we care about the environment? I suppose we do. Will we pass up a non-organic find at H &M? I think the majority of us would already be heading to the checkout counter. So, for arguments sake, if we are a passionless generation, then it’s easy to explain our inability to define a look that is all our own. But while we may not be Eco Warriors, I don’t think passion is the problem.

It is perhaps something more innate? After all, the attraction between Day-Glo and youth is no secret. Perhaps, but there’s certainly no repulsion between teens and overcast Goth culture either.

The best explanation appears to be good ‘ol youth rebellion. After years of observing grandpa-friendly cardis and decidedly aging twinsets swamping the backs of youth (Brody and Bilson, anyone?), the shock-value of seeing a 20-year-old wearing Arnold Palmer shoes and an argyle sweater vest has squandered. And the new way to rebel becomes the old, old way to rebel.

So it’s no surprise when the other day, I found myself fondling a white T with neon, Mondrian-like (translation: square) blocks splattered across the front. I’m a rebel too, you know.

05.02.07 | adrian

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